Prologue for Project OZ:13
by Herr Doktor DETH
Summary: I have plans for this story to be epic, and eventually, will turn it into a manga. It is my first attempt to publish, and, I am fairly new at this genre, mainly being an artist, not a writer. R&R is appreciated. Critique away! Gimme your worst!


Prologue

March 18, 1942

34 miles from Bushong, KS

Wind tore across the plains, and rain began to fall as the small man made his way down the road, an intense look on his face. He stumbled almost dropping the bundle he carried, and walked a bit further. He came upon a mailbox that sat upon a pole trying to tear itself loose from it's moorings. The man fumbled with one hand and got out a pair of extremely thick spectacles. He peered at the box mioptically and nodded. He took a step to the gate by the mailbox, and was suddenly hit by a piece of wood, which hit him in the head and broke his glasses, almost sending him to the ground. The man dizzily walked against the now rising wind, protecting his burden behind his coat, as hail began to pelt him.

3 People sat in the storm shelter, listening to the caterwaul of the rising storm. Hank sat on a pile of filled bags of grain as his wife glared at the farmhand who cowered in a corner. Hank moved a bit, and readjusted the shotgun that sat in his lap, one eye half-open looking at the young man, he spat on the straw covered floor and sighed.

"You know, it's a good thing that my maw liked you Roy."

The farmhand shook and looked fearfully at the man.

"you know that if she didn't ask me to take care of you on her death bed, you would be out there with the chickens and the cow."

His wife was about to say something when a pounding came from the barred door of the cellar.

Hank turned around, with a surprised look on his face. "Who the hell would be out in this weather?"

"t'isn't nobody." Said his wife, turning her bulk to the egress. "If it were, we'd have to open the door, and I ain't opening that door nohow."

Roy's eyes opened widely and he he stood. "T'is someones, and they need help!"

The woman's eyes narrowed and she turned around slowly, a look of murder in her eye. "Roy T. Catheridge, there is nobody out there." This was punctuated by a repeat of the pounding, only a bit weaker.

Roy got a defiant look on his face as he stood up to the woman, almost toe to toe, he looked down at her face. "I am opening that door, Harriet, and there's nothing that will stop me."

Harriet watched as he put a hand on the bar, then grinned sadistically. "I bet he's gotten some of those punks he meets at the co-op out there to get your money, Hank."

Hank suddenly rose with a speed with seemed impossible for a man of his girth and put the shotgun to the young farm hand's face. "Is that right boy?"

Roy looked down the twin barrels of the Ithica 12 guage and swallowed. "No, Hank, I would never do anything like that!"

"Then git your hands off that damned bar and sit down afore I decide I have a bit of mem'ry loss."

Roy looked into the man's eyes and saw that he was not kidding. He dropped his hands and kept them in the open as he backled to the corner opposite the pair, and sat down, a look of defeat on his face. Hank relaxed with a grunt, and the bags clinked metalically. Harriet sat and stared at the skinny man, her eyes looking like a snake's.

The next morning, Hank kicked Roy in the ribs, waking him up. "Git yer ass up and see how the farm fared,"

Roy arose with a groan, and saw that Harriet was now sitting on the grain bags, like a chicken brooding her eggs. She ate a thick slice of bread with jam, and watched the men intently.

Roy opened the door, and was blinded by the sunlight that glared in. He slowed down for a moment, and was prodded by the shotgun. Hank followed him closely into the yard and they looked around. The house was little worse for wear, except maybe a bit greyer than it was before, and debris from the roof lie littered the area. The lone tree in the yard was denuded of leaves, and a windmill lay on it's side. Roy gave a sigh of relief, then he heard the noise.

It sounded like a cat crying, but a bit sharper. Hank turned toward a larger pile of debris, and pointed at it. "Check it out, boy." Roy looked around, and saw a stick, which he picked up and warilly, as Harriet poked her head from the cellar like a gopher, a dab of strawberry jam dripped down her chin like a gobbet of blood.

Roy poked the pile with a stick. He looked closer, then gasped and fell on his backside.:g-g-g-ghost!"

Hank approached slowly, his shotgun panning between the pile and Roy, then he saw what the mna had obviously seen. A grey hand was sticking out from beneath what was obviously an odd marooon coloured overcoat. Hank shook his head then used the shotgun to move the coat aside, then his eyes opened wide and he smiled.

Okay, the story has begun. The great OZ13 project has begun.

As far as I know, All of these characters are products of my own sick demented mind, so far.

R&R please!!


End file.
